In a comradely way unlike his usual demeanor, King Bifalt bumped Klamath’s shoulder. “I do not need your report. The el-Algreb are remarkable scouts. They watched you. They admired your efforts in Long Slough. Afterward, they followed your flight. The forest you burned shook even their bravado. You will not believe it, Klamath, but Suti al-Suri speaks of your tactics with reverence.”

Klamath scrubbed at his face until his skin seemed to bleed. He could hardly see where he put his feet. “We were done, Majesty,” he said. “Worse than done. If Rile’s cavalry had not turned back, we would have been slaughtered.”

“Then,” declared the King, “it appears that we aided you, although I did not know it. From the woods behind the Open Hand, we contrived an attack on Rile’s supply-train. The Magisters did considerable damage. The riflemen and the horse-warriors fought well. If there had been fewer priests, we would have done more. That fool of a god had sent too much of his cavalry to the Queen’s road. His train had no defense except sorcery.

“Now I believe that our assault caused him to recall his cavalry. And I believe—” King Bifalt caught himself. “No, I hope that he thinks we are still in the west, threatening his supplies. If so, he needs his cavalry there.”

“And we killed many,” said General Klamath. “Many.”

“Yes, you did.” King Bifalt sounded almost gentle. He was not the man Klamath remembered.

A moment later, the King stopped to face his General. The sun was in Bifalt’s eyes, but he did not shade them. Instead, he let his old friend consider the wounds that loss and anger and restraint had cut in his features.

“There is something that I must tell you, Klamath,” he said carefully. “It is hard for me to say, but you will understand.”

Forcing himself, he explained, “Queen Estie has a gift for sorcery. She went to the Repository to discover her talent. Now she has claimed it. She is lost to us.”

His tone said plainly, She is lost to me.

“She can speak in our minds. She cannot hear us. Her gift has made her deaf.”

Klamath stared. He wanted to ask, Are you sure? But he could see the answer in Bifalt’s expression. The King had always loathed sorcery and sorcerers. He would not have looked so bereft if she had refused her power.

Under better circumstances, the son of Klimith might have wept for Amika’s Queen. He did not care that she could speak. That she could no longer hear was inexpressibly cruel.