So that both Magisters would hear her, she asked, Where is Magister Avail?

In my bed, Avail snapped immediately. Where I belong.

With a lift of one eyebrow, the Queen referred her question to Magister Rummage.

Glowering, the voiceless man led her to a door, opened it for her.

Propped up by pillows, Magister Avail lay on his bed. It rested against one wall with its head in the corner. Perhaps he felt safer with stone on two sides of him. Rather than his Magister’s robe, he wore a long, rumpled nightshirt which did nothing to disguise the fact that he had not done anything to care for himself. The sour smell of sweat and unwashed flesh hung in the air. His hair resembled a nest for untidy birds.

This place is mine, he rasped at Estie. You are not welcome here.

She puffed her cheeks in a silent snort. As she approached the bed, she took Lamit Karsolsky’s book from Crayn and dropped it on the blankets. Aloud, she asked Crayn to bring her a chair.

Radiating vexation, Magister Rummage went with Crayn. They each brought a chair from the sitting room.

Queen Estie placed hers facing away from Magister Avail. With a gesture, she asked the hunchback to sit in front of her. Glaring, he seated himself close enough to tap on her thighs. When he was settled, she began to do what she could for Magister Avail by the simple expedient of ignoring him.

“Tell me,” she commanded Magister Rummage, “how you will defend the Repository.”

He bared his teeth. His heavy fingers wrote a demand:

—Why?

She had come too far to hesitate. “Because my people are dying for you. King Bifalt’s are dying.”

The hunchback closed his mouth over his teeth. One after another, frowns and grimaces chased his thoughts. When he reached a conclusion, his expression settled in a scowl.

—We are not made for war. The Repository itself defends us. Its walls were fashioned to endure. If it cannot protect us, nothing will.

“But you have Magisters of all kinds,” she protested. “Many of them are mighty. Will they do nothing?”

Magister Rummage appeared to sigh.

—They will do what they can. When the Great God comes, our people will oppose him from the battlements. But we cannot match him. We have never aspired to warfare.

His touch dug deeper.

—Sirjane Marrow had cruelty in him. You know that. But in one thing, he saw us clearly. We are not enough. We have never been enough. We need your King Bifalt.

Carefully, the Queen countered, “I find that difficult to believe. You have vast abilities. Distance is no obstacle to the seventh Decimate—or to the Farsighted. Surely, other sorceries have the same reach.