“I fear for him, husband. He is a good man worn down by poor health and thwarted love. Any new burden may be too great for him. But Magister Threnody will try to persuade him. She is not a woman who seeks to impose her desires. She prefers the support of people who listen and understand.”

Bifalt approved. While Estie sat in front of him and held his hand and met his gaze, he might have approved of anything.

“Then she should consult with Third Father,” he suggested. “Or Fifth Daughter. Or any monk. The Cult of the Many teaches them to hear more than people say.”

Estie smiled. “She has, husband. She will continue. She knows now to value the Cult of the Many.”

He was content. He wanted to sit with her for a while in silence, basking. But her smile faded. As if she were stiffening her spine, she said, “There is one other matter, husband. The librarian has a boon to ask of you. She hopes that I will persuade you. If I do not, she may try to insist.”

Reflexively, he scowled. “What does she want?”

“When you have recovered,” began Estie cautiously, “when you are well enough, she asks you to meet with the people on whom the life of the Repository depends, the Magisters and apprentices. She wants you to address them. She considers it essential that they hear your tale. They must understand what their survival cost you.”

Bifalt flinched. More harshly than he intended, he said, “I do not make speeches, my lady.”

“I have not forgotten, my lord.”

He tried to swallow his dismay. “Do you ask this?”

She met his glare without faltering. “I do. You have kept yourself to yourself for too long. I think it would be well for you to speak—and well for the Repository to hear.”

He sagged. Suddenly, he wanted his bed. Hells, he wanted the elixir that made him sleep.

“Then I will do it, my lady.” Sighing, he added, “When I am stronger.”

She surprised him by leaning closer, leaving a soft kiss on his lips. “When you are stronger,” she murmured like a promise.

A moment later, she was gone, taking Crayn with her.

With Fifth Daughter’s support, Bifalt returned to his bed.

He spent four days pushing his limits. The care of the physicians and shamans healed his body. Estie’s frequent visits strengthened his spirit.

When she was not there, he walked.

He refused to wear anything that would distinguish him as Belleger’s King. In the garb of a servant, a plain brown shirt and trousers, soft moccasins on his feet, he ventured out of his bedchamber. The long halls gave him room to test himself. Attended always by one of the monks in case he misjudged himself or lost his way, he went farther every day.