Even as she spoke, we all became aware of raised voices in the corridor outside the chamber. There was a light knock at the door, and before they could respond, a hasty and heavier one. Kettricken nodded to a little page at her side, who went to answer it. When the door was opened, a guard stood before it, ready to relay a message. Behind him hulked Burrich, dark and scowling, and despite all the years that had passed, I quailed before that look. His black eyes glowered as he peered past the sentry into the room. Plainly dismissing the man as inconsequential, Burrich called out, “Chade. A word with you, please.”

It was Queen Kettricken who replied. “Burrich. Please come in. Page, you are dismissed. Close the door behind you. No, Guardsman Senna, I assure you, all is well. We have no need of your service just now. Close the door.”

Even as Burrich strode angrily into the chamber, the quiet courtesy of her words and her calm air as she received him took much of the wind from his sails. He walked with a swing to one leg where that joint did not bend well.

He went down on one knee before her, despite her, “Oh, Burrich, that is hardly necessary. Please. Get up.”

It cost him to haul himself back to his feet, yet he did. When he lifted his eyes to hers, I saw something that smote me. The palest of cataracts, the barest beginning of a creeping cloud, hazed his dark glance. “My Queen. Lord Chade,” he greeted them formally. Then, as if there were no more to say to them, he turned to Swift and said, “Boy. Get home. Now.” When the lad dared to glance at the Queen for confirmation, Burrich growled, “I said, get home! Do you forget who your father is?”

“No, sir. I do not. But how . . . how did you find me?” Swift demanded in dismay.

Burrich snorted contemptuously. “Easily enough. You asked the smith in Trura which road led to Buckkeep. Now I’ve had a long, cold ride and you’ve annoyed these people enough. I’m taking you home now.”

I admired Swift then, for he stood his ground gamely before his father’s rising wrath. “I have asked asylum of the Queen. And if she grants it to me, I intend to stay.”

“You’re talking nonsense. You need no asylum. You’ve worried your mother to hysteria and had your sister in tears for two nights. Now you’ll come home, and settle back into your place and do your duties. Without complaint.”

“Sir,” Swift replied. It was not assent, only a confirmation that he had heard Burrich’s words. Silently he lifted his dark eyes to the Queen. It was a strange sight, Burrich, older and grayer, and beside him, his son mirroring the stubborn gaze of his father.

“If I might offer a suggestion—” Chade began, but Kettricken cut in with “Swift, you have come far and quickly. I know you are wet, cold, and tired. Tell the guardsman at the door to take you down to the kitchens and see you are fed, and then to let you stand before the hearth and get warm and dry. I wish to speak to your father.”

The boy hesitated, and Burrich’s scowl deepened. “Obey her, boy!” he snapped at the lad. “That is your queen. If you cannot show the filial piety to obey your father, at least show you’ve the upbringing to obey your rightful queen. Make your bow, and then go as you were told.”

I saw the boy’s hopes die. He bowed stiffly but correctly and left. Even then, Swift did not scuttle from the room, but strode out, with dignity, as if to his own execution. When the door had closed behind him, Burrich swung his glance back to Kettricken. “I beg my queen’s pardon that you have been troubled with this. He’s a good enough lad, ordinarily. He’s just at . . . a difficult age.”

“He has not troubled us. Truth to tell, I would willingly be so troubled, if that is what it takes to bring you to visit us. Will you sit down, Burrich?” She gestured at an empty chair, one of several in a row before her.

Burrich held himself stiffly erect. “You are kind to offer it, but I have not the time to linger, my lady. I promised my wife I would return to her, with the boy, as swiftly as I could and—”

“Must I command you to sit down, my stubborn old friend? Your good lady will forgive you the delay to rest yourself for a moment, I am sure.”

He was silent. Then, like a dog commanded to sit and stay, he walked to one of the chairs and sat down in it. Again, he waited.

After a pause, Kettricken tried again. “After all these years, this is an awkward way for all of us to come together again. And yet, no matter how awkwardly it came about, I am glad to see your face again. Yes, and to see that you have a son with his father’s proud spirit.”

Another man might have warmed to that paternal compliment, but Burrich only glanced down and tempered it with “And I fear he has many of his father’s faults as well, my lady.”