“Don’t do it yet!” I intervened. “Think about it, and tell us if you think it can be done. But maybe we shouldn’t do that, either.”

“Do you think we have enough elfbark to make tea for all of Withywoods? Even if a courier brings my supply also? Fitz, with every minute, every hour, Bee and Shun may be in greater danger. At the very least, they are moving away from us. At worst, well, I refuse to consider the worst. But we need to know what happened after Lant was knocked unconscious. We both know that their tracks are totally obscured by now, with all the snow and wind we’ve had. And if the raiders can make Withywoods folk forget what happened here, can they make folk forget they’ve seen them passing? As we’ve had no news of strangers in this part of Buck, I consider that likely. So our only hope is to find out who they were and what their plans were. They came a long way and apparently made very elaborate plans to get something. What?”

“Who,” Lant corrected him. “They wanted a pale boy.”

“The Unexpected Son,” I said quietly. “From the White Prophecies. Chade, the Fool told me that was why he was tortured. The Servants are looking for the next White Prophet, and they thought the Fool would know where to find him.”

A tap at the door turned my gaze that way. Bulen poked his head in. “Sir, I’ve brought her.”

“Please bring her in,” I invited him. As Bulen opened the door and the woman entered, Perseverance came to his feet. He stared at her with dog’s eyes. I saw his lip quiver and then he clenched his jaws.

I had possibly met his mother when I first came to Withywoods, but I doubted our paths had crossed much since then. She was a typical Buck woman, with curly black hair bundled into a lace net at the back of her head and soft brown eyes. She was slender for a woman of her years, and her clothing was well cared for. She bobbed a curtsy to us and politely but eagerly asked about the position in the kitchen. I let Chade reply.

“This lad who has worked in the stables says you have a reputation as an excellent baker.”

Diligent turned a polite smile on Perseverance but showed no sign of recognition. Chade continued, “I understand that you live in the cottages used by the stable hands. We are looking into the stable fire that happened on Winterfest eve. Lives were lost in that fire, and we are trying to get an accurate accounting of how it may have started. Did you know any of the stable hands?”

Such a direct question. It was as if someone had flapped a black rag behind her eyes. There was a moment when she did not seem to see us or be in the room with us. Then she was back. She shook her head. “No, sir, I don’t believe I do.”

“I see. And I’ve forgotten my manners, asking you here on such a cold day and offering you no comfort. Please. Do sit down. We’ve some cakes here. And may I pour a cup of tea for you? It’s a special brew from Buckkeep Castle itself.”

“Why, thank you, sir. That would be kind.” Bulen brought her a chair and she sat carefully, arranging her skirts so they fell smoothly. As Chade poured tea and brought it to her, she offered, “You know, you might ask Hawthorn at the end of the lane. Her boy works in the stables; they might know.”

Chade brought her the cup himself. “It can be a bit strong. Let us know if you’d care for some honey,” he said as he gave it to her.

She smiled as she accepted the pretty china cup. “Thank you,” she said, and took a sip. She puckered her mouth in surprise at the bitterness, but she smiled. “It is a bit strong,” she said politely.

“It’s something of a tonic,” Chade told her. “I enjoy the vigor it seems to give me, especially on chill winter days.” He gave her his most charming smile.

“Indeed, does it?” she asked. “At my age, I could use a bit of that!” She smiled back at him and took a second, polite sip. As she lowered the cup to the saucer, her face changed. The cup chattered on the saucer as her hand began to tremble. Chade rescued it from her failing grip. Her hands rose first to cover her mouth, and then to picket her whole face. She bowed forward from the waist. She began to shake badly and the first sound that came out of her was not a woman weeping but an animal’s low cry of agony.

Perseverance flew across the room. He knelt before her and put his good arm around her. He did not tell her that it would be all right. He said nothing, but put his cheek beside hers. No one in the room spoke as she continued to grieve. After a time, she lifted her head, put her arms around her son, and said, “I sent you away. How can you ever forgive me? You were all I had left, and I sent you away.”