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.

This time, he was given water to drink and a little food. A few raisins. Some bread sopped in wine. A meager meal, but he could not have eaten more. While he forced himself to finish it, he fretted.

He wanted Estie again.

She did not come. His next visitors were Elgart and Klamath.

One part of him sighed for his wife. Another was glad to see his old friends.

They brought back more memories. They carried themselves like men who had almost recovered from their separate ordeals. Clearly, more time had passed than Bifalt knew.

Yet they had been badly damaged. Elgart wore a clean band around his head covering his ruined eye. It made him look like a brigand. Tightly wrapped in bandages, Klamath’s right arm resembled a club more than a limb. Whenever he forgot that he could not use it, he grimaced.