“I feared for you, my lord.” He could not interpret her tone. It sounded like weeping or teasing. “I should have known better. You are too great to be slain by armies or gods.”

She was as bad as Third Father. Half of what she said did not make sense. But she was here. That was what mattered. Eventually, perhaps, Bifalt might remember why he was here.

At his best, he could not have matched her smile. He needed all of his strength to say, “You called me Beloved.”

She nodded. “I did. And I said more. I told you that I love you. I should have said so long ago. I will not miss another chance. I love you, Bifalt.”

He was still trying to pick up the fragments of things that he should have known. Uncomfortably, he confessed, “When I heard your voice the first time. We had escaped the Fist. I thought—”

A sudden memory plucked that thought away. Instead, he stared at her, desperate to see her clearly.

“You hear me. How can you hear me?”

The angles of her smile shifted. It became arch. With one hand, she directed his attention to the other side of his bed.

A young woman sat there. A very young woman. She held herself awkwardly, as if she were uncomfortable in the grey robe of a Magister. She had an air of concentration. Some task preoccupied her. If it involved sorcery, Bifalt could not detect it. But her eyes and her smile were kind.

“My lord,” said Estie, “let me introduce Magister Evensong. A few days ago, she was an apprentice, but she has proven herself. She wields the seventh Decimate, as Magister Facile did. It quelled Rile’s priests so that Prince Jaspid could destroy his staff. Her gift would be dangerous in a keep full of theurgists. But Magister Facile showed me that the seventh Decimate can be focused on a single sorcerer.

“While Magister Evensong and I are together, she can relieve me of my deafness and my other voice.”

As Estie spoke, the young woman lifted a flagon to Bifalt’s lips. He recognized it by its aroma, and did not want it. It would make him sleep. But he was too weak to refuse.

After a few swallows, he turned back to Estie. Fighting a wave of drowsiness, he asked, “Then how can we speak? How can I tell you I love you? If we are never alone?”

Her smile held more light than all of the lamps. “Silly man.” With one hand, she rested a cool caress on his forehead, encouraging him to relax. “I will teach you. It is easier than you suppose.”

He tried to say, Teach me now. But the elixir was potent. It carried him away.

The next day, King Bifalt felt stronger, a bit more alert. His vision had improved. Some of the breaks in his memories had repaired themselves. Despite his damaged side, he was able to sit more upright in his bed.