“It doesn't really bother me,” I replied in some confusion. Then, as if someone had drawn a curtain open and spilled out light, I understood. She did not know that Lord Golden was the Fool. She truly saw me as but his servant, passing a message to her on his behalf. For all of her minstrel cleverness, she looked at him and saw the wealthy Jamaillian lord. I fought the smile away from my face. “I am content with my position with him and grateful to Chade for arranging it. I am satisfied to be Tom Badgerlock.”

For a moment she looked incredulous. The look faded into disappointment in me. Then she gave a small shake of her head. “I should have known you would be. It's what you always wanted, isn't it? Your own little life. To have no responsibility for your line or for what happens at court. To be one of the humble folk, counting for nothing in the long run.”

All my earlier efforts to spare her feelings seemed vapid now. “I have to go,” I repeated.

“Hurry along to your master.” She released me. Her voice was a trained talent, and her scorn danced in it with a scorpion's sting.

By a vast effort of will, I said nothing in reply. I turned and walked away from her back into the inn. I climbed the servants' stairs to our quarters, tapped, and let myself in.

I Dutiful lifted his head from the pillow to regard me. His dark hair was sleeked back, his skin flushed from his bath. The effect made him look young. The Fool's bed was empty.

“My Prince,” I greeted him. Then, “Lord Golden?” I queried the screened bath.

“He left.” Dutiful let his head drop back to the pillow. “Laurel tapped on the door and wished to speak with him privately.”

“Ah.” It almost made me smile. Wouldn't that have intrigued Starling?

“He asked me to be sure you knew we had left you the bathwater. And leave your clothes outside the door. He's arranged for a servant to wash them and return them by morning.”

“Thank you, my Prince. It is most kind of you to tell me.”

“Please lock the door, he said. He said he would knock and awaken you when he returned.”

“As you wish, my Prince.” I stepped to the door and locked it. I doubted he would be back before dawn. “Is there anything else you require before I bathe, my Prince?”

“No. And don't talk to me like that.” He turned his back on me, shouldering into the bed.

I undressed. As I peeled off my shirt, I made sure the feathers went with it. I sat down for a moment on my low pallet before removing my boots. The feathers from the beach slipped from the shirt's sleeve and under the thin blanket. I removed Jinna's charm and set it on the pillow. I arose, set my clothes outside the door, locked it again, and walked to the screened tub. As I climbed into the water, Dutiful's voice followed me. “Aren't you going to ask me why?”

The water in the tub had cooled to lukewarm, but it was still far hotter than the rain outside had been. I peeled the healer's bandaging from my neck. The scratches on my belly and chest stung as I lowered myself into the water. Then they eased. I sank farther down to soak my neck, as well.

“I said, aren't you going to ask me why?”

“I suppose it's because you don't want me to call you 'my Prince,' Prince Dutiful.” The salve on my injuries was melting in the water, perfuming the air with its aromatic scent. Goldenseal. Myrrh. I closed my eyes and ducked under the water. When I came up, I helped myself to the little bowl of soap that had been left for the Prince. I worked it through what was left of my hair and watched the brown suds drip into the water. I ducked again to rinse it.

“You shouldn't have to thank me and wait on me and defer to me. I know who you are. Your blood's as good as mine.”

I was grateful for the screen. I splashed a bit while I tried to think, hoping he would believe I hadn't heard him.

“Chade used to tell me stories. When he first started teaching me things. Stories about another boy he had taught, how stubborn he was, and also how clever. 'When my first boy was your age,' he'd say, and then tell a story about how you'd played tricks on the washer folk, or hidden the seamstress's shears to perplex her. You had a pet weasel, didn't you?”

Slink had been Chade's weasel. I'd stolen Mistress Hasty's shears on his orders, as part of my assassin's training in theft and stealth. Surely Chade hadn't told him that, as well. My mouth was dry. I splashed loudly and waited.

“You're his son, aren't you? Chade's son and hence my would it be a second cousin? On the wrong side of the sheets, but a cousin all the same. And I think I know who your mother was, too. She is a lady still spoken of, though none seems to know a great deal about her. Lady Thyme.”