Queen Estie of Amika hurried into her covert like a woman who did not feel the biting cold and did not care how much snow clogged her steps.

She had to swipe off snow and ice to open the gaps that allowed her to see. Then she put her face to the stones and looked out at the lower plateau.

The sight hit her like a slap. Rile in his pavilion seemed too near. Surely Waysel and his siege-guns had been farther away than this? The clear light of a new day made the priests and the horde vivid. The sun shone like flames on the armor of the heavy infantry. The Great God’s power shouted at the heavens. If she made any sound, the enemy would hear her.

But Rile and his forces were focused on other matters. She was too small and too well hidden to catch their attention.

Swallowing her fright, she moved to the next gap. From there, she could peer down toward the road and search the drifts for signs of Klamath’s men.

Magister Avail’s shout stopped her. Queen! he demanded. Hear me!

He sounded frantic.

Yes? she answered.

At once, he replied, Magister Bleak sees King Bifalt. Riflemen. They are with the el-Algreb just below the road on your side.

Queen Estie staggered. Bifalt!

The deaf sorcerer took a mental breath.

They will attack the infantry. They must not! They have a more urgent task.

At once, he explained, Below the road, priests form an aisle down to the desert. To the Great God’s wagons. Servants there unload more bundles. He must have meant, More than the materials needed for Rile’s seat, pavilion, table, and stools. Magister Bleak counts ten. They each take a bundle and run. They run, Queen. Up the slope in the aisle of priests. The priests Shield them. What they carry must be precious to the Great God.

Magister Rummage fears it. The King must stop them. He must.

Estie stumbled against the Commander, let him brace her.

Tell him, she retorted to Avail.

The Magister swore. You tell him, Queen. He may not heed me.

Do it now!

His sudden silence left a hole in her mind, a blank space that should have been filled with decisions and action. She had yearned for a moment like this. A moment when she learned that Bifalt was alive. A moment when he would understand why she reached out to him. But she had also dreaded it. There was too much at stake. She was not ready for it.

He was alive!

The Repository needed him. Magister Rummage needed him.

“Crayn,” she panted. “Watch for me.”

Then she flung other concerns away, keeping only sorcery and deafness and her husband.

Bifalt, she said, groping for a point of balance between her hopes and her fears. Beloved. Please.