On her way to the quarters that Magister Rummage shared with Magister Avail, the deaf man summoned her. He sounded almost polite.

When she knocked on his door, he opened it immediately. He still resembled an invalid recovering from a long illness. His eyes had a yellow tinge, and the flesh of his face sagged on its bones. But he had bathed. He wore his traditional grey robe. He may have tried to force a comb through his unruly hair.

Nodding, he ushered the Queen and Crayn into his sitting room.

The hunchback was there, bent over in a chair with his elbows braced on his knees. His posture emphasized his deformity. He carried the bulge of his back as if its weight threatened to break him. It made him look more like a cripple, less like the strong and violent man that the Repository needed.

He and Magister Avail were not alone. Sword Eradimnie stood to one side. Apart from her helm, she wore the full armor of the Knights of Ardor. She was only a handspan or two taller than Estie, but her broad frame and burnished iron seemed to dominate the room as if it were too small to contain her.

Estie had been raised within the walls of Amika’s Desire, a glowering edifice that was more a fortress than a castle. And in Belleger’s Fist as well, she had spent her days mostly enclosed by stone. She was accustomed to living deep in places like the massive bulk of the Repository. But now she felt cramped, unable to draw a full breath.

The Knight’s presence had that effect. She had the worn features of a woman in her middle years. An ingrained squint suggested that she had spent most of her life outside in all weather, training or fighting. The pale blue of her eyes and the uncompromising set of her mouth promised that she knew how to look death in the face.

Without waiting for Estie, Magister Avail seated himself beside his friend. At once, the hunchback took the deaf man’s hand. For a moment, they both studied Amika’s Queen. Then Avail said, Be seated, Queen. Sword Eradimnie has given us her counsel. Now she waits for your response.

Queen Estie took a deep breath, shook herself into a semblance of calm. Deliberately graceful, she selected an armchair opposite the Magisters. Behind her, Commander Crayn turned to the Knight and offered a formal Amikan bow. With a twist that may have been a smile at the corner of her mouth, Sword Eradimnie acknowledged him by clashing her mailed fist on her breastplate. Swallowing whatever he felt, he joined her near the wall.

His mask was good. Only Estie, who knew him well, could see that he felt diminished beside the Knight.

Feigning unconcern, Queen Estie smoothed out the rumples in her apparel. “My response to what?” she asked.