But there was no excuse. She had refused to let Avail teach her. Without knowing it, she had chosen to be a woman who killed.

Uselessly, Avail said something aloud. At Estie’s side, Magister Rummage was breathing hard. A fury of his own bared his teeth. If he had possessed any voice, he would have snarled. His fingers told her:

—Magister Avail is my only friend. He says the fault is his.

As if she had been accused, Queen Estie jerked up her head. Now she focused her voice exclusively on the deaf sorcerer.

I killed him. You did not. The fault is mine.

The deaf man spread his hands. I should have insisted. I could have warned you. You do not know your own power.

There was too much in the room, too many people, too many needs. The librarian’s whole body seemed to plead for something that Magister Oblique could not give, some form of reassurance or comfort only Amika’s Queen possessed.

But Magister Rummage reacted with fury. He could not have heard her. He may have heard his friend. His fingers jabbed her forearm hard enough to raise bruises.

—Ask her!

Astonished out of herself, Estie turned to the hunchback.

“Ask who? Ask what?”

His teeth bit chunks out of the air.

—The librarian! Ask her about the book!

Magister Oblique shouted at Rummage. She could not have seen what he wrote, but his ferocity must have been obvious.

Estie understood him too well. Nevertheless she was out of her depth. His vehemence implied questions that she did not know how to answer. Lives seemed to be at stake. When Tak Biondi had described Lamit Karsolsky’s book, she had recognized its value at once. But she had also assumed that he was simply trying to distract her. Until this moment, this instant, she had not realized that he had spoken to do the Repository more harm.

What he had told her might be as explosive as gunpowder.

She did not want to aggravate Beatrix Threnody’s distress. Yet she could not refuse Magister Rummage. She was full of stresses like lightning, and the hunchback had tried with all his strength to protect her. It was not weakness that had kept him from Tak Biondi: it was the sorcery of coercion.

Bracing herself on his shoulder, she faced Magister Oblique and the librarian.

“Magister Threnody.” Her voice shivered. “I have a question.”

Everyone except Magister Avail could hear her. Perhaps she should have asked for a private audience. But she was too overwrought to pause. The throbbing of her forearm demanded an outlet. She had to speak now. If this was atonement, it was necessary.

At once, Rummage left her. In a rush, he went to Avail and assumed his familiar position holding his friend’s hand.

Without his support, Queen Estie tottered. But she did not fall.