And when he was not walking, or concentrating on his wife, he studied Lamit Karsolsky’s book. At first, he found its concepts and instructions impenetrable. But as he regained the use of his mind, he began to understand. Then Fifth Daughter informed him that some of the Cult’s monks were also learning Karsolsky’s System. With their help, he practiced.

During those days, however, he kept his progress from his wife. Whenever she came to him, he used only his voice. Painfully aware of his awkwardness, he was reluctant to take a more intimate risk.

On the fifth day, he decided that he was ready. Not to make a speech—hells, no!—but to pretend that he could for her sake.

As he informed her with Crayn’s help that he would attempt to satisfy the librarian, her delight brought tears to her eyes. She kissed him again, a soft, lingering kiss that left him light-headed. Then she hurried away to apprise Magister Threnody.

A few hours later, the Queen returned to escort her husband to the gathering of the Repository.

During the interval, the excitement of her kiss had faded. A darker mood took its place. A speech? Him? What could he possibly say that would vindicate the sacrifices that Belleger and Amika had made, the suffering that their people had endured, the lives that both realms had lost? For the first time since the war’s end, Estie’s smile did not lift his heart.

With a glance, she took in his drab raiment, but she did not comment on it. Taking his arm, she held him tightly. As she steered him to the door, she said, “I know that this does not please you, beloved. Whatever you say, I am yours.”

That assurance failed to steady him, but it helped him walk.

After some distance, he began to recognize her destination. It was etched in his memory despite the intervening years. He had first encountered Commander Forguile there. Magister Rummage had almost broken his wrists. Elgart had faced him in mortal combat.

The refectory of the Last Repository.

It was a vast hall cut deep into the keep’s stone. Ordinarily, it held trestle-tables and chairs enough to accommodate several hundred hungry people at any time of the day or night. Now, as on the occasion of Bifalt’s confrontation with Elgart—the moment which had transformed Bifalt into a man he hardly knew—the tables and chairs had been pushed against the walls, making room for a multitude.

Apart from a small clear space in its center, the place was full.

The sight cost Bifalt a moment of balance. His vision swam. These were the people on whom the librarian depended most, these hundreds? And they expected him to—what? Explain himself? Shame them for the former librarian’s dishonesty and arrogance? Without Estie’s clasp on his arm, he might have stumbled.