When other duties called her away, or she needed rest herself, Commander Crayn or Apprentice Travail took her place. Healers visited regularly. Monks, servants, and Magisters looked in on him. The librarian herself spent an hour with him, simply keeping him company.

Later, he was moved to a different bed. There was not enough room for him in the Repository’s infirmary. Soon after the battle ended, and for the next two days, swarms of people emerged from the keep to scour the foothills for survivors. Servants, scribes, students, teachers, apprentices, Magisters, all labored up and down the slopes, looking for anyone whose life might still be saved. In that task, they made no distinctions. Horse-warriors and Bellegerins, Amikans and infantrymen, even priests were carried into the Repository and delivered to the physicians and shamans. Soon the infirmary was overwhelmed. A field hospital had been set up in the great hall, and still Magister Threnody scrambled to find more beds. The healers worked themselves ragged, and yet had more to do.

To ease their efforts in one small way, Queen Estie had her husband carried to her own quarters, where he was settled in the Commander’s chamber adjoining her sitting room. Crayn had lost his guardsmen when sub-Commander Waysel and the cannoneers were overrun. He had rooms and beds to spare. There Bifalt slept on, never alone. Especially at night, Estie sat near him.

At other times, the Queen was busy elsewhere, consulting with the librarian and Magister Oblique, or ensuring the comfort of riflemen, el-Algreb, and Magisters who needed nothing more than rest and good food. She also visited the infirmary and the field hospital to show her support for everyone there, whether or not they had once been her foes. And she spoke at length with General Klamath, Elgart, and Prince Jaspid. She could not hear them. Her gift had been restored. But with the aid of Crayn’s signs and gestures, she pieced together their explanations of how and why they had come to be where they were needed most. Later, she addressed Chancellor Sikthorn in Maloresse, telling him what had happened—and what to expect.

But her first thoughts every day, and her last, were for Bifalt. She knew now that he would live. Still, too much between them remained unresolved. She wanted him to wake.

When he finally opened his eyes, they refused to focus. He recognized the blur of lamplight, walls at strange angles, a chamber of some kind. Nothing else. There was an emptiness in his mind, a gulf that swallowed comprehension.

His arms lay outside whatever covered him. Blankets? He was not sure. Hoping for something familiar, he lifted his arms a little, peered at his hands. But they were little more than vague shapes. They told him nothing. He closed his eyes again.