Listening, Bifalt knotted his fists, gnawed the inside of his cheek. To anyone else, he would have retorted, Make amends? Hells, she should. But he could not vent his indignation to Amandis.

Trying to control himself, he asked the question that mattered most to him.

“Did Magister Avail say anything about Queen Estie? Did Lylin?” Were the devotee’s revelations difficult for her? This was difficult for him. “I fear for her.”

He meant, How badly have I hurt her?

Amandis may have considered that another wasted question. Nevertheless she gave him the courtesy of an answer.

“Magister Avail said nothing, King. His thoughts are fixed on the Repository’s defense. Your Queen does not affect his demand for aid. Lylin said only that she is well.”

“She took cannon with her,” returned Bifalt as if that detail were relevant in some way. “Her men know how to fire them.”

For the first time that night, Amandis turned to him. “That is good,” she said distinctly. “The Magisters will not disregard her. They need her guns.”

Turning away, she left Bifalt alone in the dark.

He watched her go until the wan glow of her garb faded from sight. Then he covered his face with his hands.

He had heard too much. The devotee’s confessions baffled him. If he could have talked about them with Estie, she would have helped him understand them. But he might never get the chance to speak with her again. Hells, he might never see her—

How had she become so necessary to him? He had desired her from the first, her and no other woman. Yet desire alone did not explain the emptiness that his separation from her left in his heart.

He gave his people another hour while he wrestled with himself. Then he roused them to resume their trek in the desert.

Well before dawn, he learned that Rile was still ahead of him. Suti al-Suri’s scouts delivered fresh news.

The devotee spoke the el-Algreb tongue. Translating for King Bifalt, she declared, “The enemy is on the caravan-track. A host of men on tusked beasts are racing north. No doubt, they will take the road through the foothills to the Repository.

“The men that Suti al-Suri calls the horde lead the enemy’s advance. They follow a great many priests through the dunes. The foot soldiers trail behind.”

“Why?” demanded Bifalt. “Why send his cavalry that way? What can they do against the Repository?”

Amandis countered, “How else can they reach the enemy’s target? Have you forgotten the foothills? They are too rugged for beasts or horses that do not know the hidden paths.”

The chief warrior nodded. “Cross track soon, Brother. Most holy lead. Easy paths. Gain ground.”