Abruptly, Magister Rummage pulled her to her feet. As if he were taking pity on her, he clasped her hand and tapped:

—He has been poisoned, but he will not die. It is the same poison that whoreson gave Travail. They know how to treat it now.

Estie said nothing. She could not look away from the shamans and Third Father. She felt hollowed out, as if something essential had been taken from her.

For a moment, the hunchback hesitated. Then he made a decision. Glaring, he thrust her out of the room. When he had shut the door, he forced her back the way they had come. Despite his air of suppressed fury, he did not handle her roughly.

Empty of something that mattered to her, something vital, Estie let the Magister take her wherever he wished.

Gradually, however, the effort of moving her feet brought back a shock that she did not want to feel. She began to tremble. Without the hunchback’s grip on her arm, she might have stopped. She wanted to cover her face.

She had killed a man. And not with a blade. With her mind.

With sorcery.

She stumbled as if she had been shoved.

Tak Biondi was not the first man she had killed. Once, she had punched a blade into an attacker’s throat. Surely that was the same thing? Twice, men had tried to end her life. Twice, she had killed them defending herself.

But it was not the same thing at all.

The first man had intended simple murder. Tak Biondi had done far more harm. He had probably revealed the Repository’s location to his Great God. He had certainly tried to kill Apprentice Travail. With Magister Marrow, he had succeeded. Given the chance, he would have committed more crimes.

He had to die.

And yet—

She realized now that she had been in no real danger. Or rather: she would not have been in danger if she had known what she could do. She had not killed Tak Biondi blade to blade. That her husband would have called honorable. She had slain him with her mental voice.

The truth seemed to shake her bones. Her power resembled a Decimate. Like drought, fire, and the others, it could be used to do good and cause harm. Why had Bifalt always loathed theurgy? Why had he been so quick to dismiss its benefits? Now she understood him. Any Decimate could do what she had done. It could kill men and women who were helpless to defend themselves.

If she had known enough about her power—if she had let Magister Avail teach her—she could have ended Tak Biondi as soon as he produced his dagger. She might have been able to stop him without killing him.

Had she learned nothing from her husband?