I rolled cautiously away from him and sat up on the edge of the bed. I stood up slowly. I felt well rested, with no aching muscles. I was neither too warm nor too cold. I looked around the room. The magic of the Elderlings was all round me. How easily I had accepted it last night. How swiftly I had dropped my guard. “Sweetsleep,” I muttered to myself.

I rose and left the Fool sleeping and went to the smaller room. The pool had drained itself, and my discarded clothing was where I had dropped it. One boot stood and the other sprawled on its side. I moved slowly, gathering my things and trying to clear my brain at the same time. I felt peculiar. One at a time, I gathered my worries with my clothing. Even drunk, I’d never behaved as selfishly as I had last night. It bothered me. I found fresher clothes in my pack, donned them, and tidied my discarded clothing. The water in the ewer was warm. There was a looking-glass and, beside it, brushes. I persuaded my hair into a warrior’s tail and decided that it would be easier to have a beard than to shave. I turned my face from side to side, studying the gray in my whiskers. So be it.

“Fitz?”

“I’m right here. Up and dressed.”

“I … dreamed.”

“You said the tea would do that, give pleasant dreams.”

I turned to find him sitting up on the bed. The Elderling gown was silvery. It reminded me of very fine chain mail. Or fish scales.

“I dreamed of both of us here. Walking in this city, laughing and talking. But so long ago. In a time of dragons, when the city was fine and unshattered.” He paused, his mouth slightly ajar. He said softly, “The air smelled like flowers. It was like that first time. In the Mountains at the market-circle.”

“We are deep in an Elderling city. The buildings are impregnated with Skill and memories. I’m not surprised you had such a dream.”

“It was a very sweet dream,” he said softly. He stood and slowly groped his way toward me.

“Wait. Let me come for you.” I reached his side and, taking his hand, I set it on my arm. “I’m sorry I left you to fend for yourself last night.”

“I was fine.”

“I didn’t mean to be so thoughtless.” And yet, how good it had felt. To think only of my own needs and no one else’s. How selfish, I rebuked myself. I guided him to the ewer of wash-water.

“Don’t apologize. The sweetsleep affected you exactly as I knew it would.”

His pack was overturned, Amber’s wardrobe spilled out across the floor. “Do you want me to put your clothing back in the pack?” I asked him.

He straightened from washing his face with one hand, groped for and found a drying cloth. “Sweet Eda, no! I’ll have Spark repack our things. Fitz, you’ve never had respect for fabric or lace. I won’t trust you with it now.” He came toward me, his hands fluttering before him. His bared hand touched my shoulder, and then he crouched down over the spilled pack. He found garments by touch, considering texture. He paused once to hold up a skirt. “Is this blue? Or turquoise?”

“Blue,” I said, and he set it aside. “Are you hungry? Shall I ring for food?”

“Please,” he said as he shook out a white blouse.

I think he listened to my boots on the tiles, for just as I reached the entry to the sitting room, he said, “If you would shut the door?”

I did so and then explored the room. I judged that the heavy furniture of dark wood had come from Bingtown. I found a flower painted on a twining vine on a trellis that framed the door. It was slightly raised, and I touched it. The petals blushed from pink to red and back again. I stepped back from it. I heard nothing, no bell in the distance. I walked to the window. I looked out in puzzlement, for the garden below was in riotous bloom. Out there, a fountain splashed and a caged bird hopped from perch to perch. Flowers blossomed. Another step, and my perspective of the window changed. Despite the bird’s motion and the flowers nodding in the breeze, there was no window. More Elderling magic.

I tapped on the door to the bedchamber. “I’ve rung for food.”

“You may come in,” Amber’s voice replied. And when I entered, she was seated before the mirror she could not see, pushing a brush through her short pale hair and then patting at it. She seemed to feel me looking at her. “Does it bother you?” she asked me.

I did not ask her what she meant. “Strange to say, no. You are you. Fool, Lord Golden, Amber, and Beloved. You are you, and we know each other as well as any two people can.”

“Beloved,” she said, and smiled sadly. I did not know if she repeated my word, or if the Fool called me by his own name. She dropped her hands to the top of the table, gloved one atop the bared one. “There was a time,” she began, “when you would have hated this masquerade.”