King Shrewd shifted in the shadows of his bed. “It reminds me of my younger days,” he said hoarsely. “Once I could sit a horse and hold a sword. When a man loses that—well, once that is gone, he has actually lost far more than that. But your horse was all right?”

Burrich furrowed his brow. “I did what I could for him, my king. He will take no permanent harm from it.”

“Well. At least there is that, then. At least there is that.” King Shrewd paused. For a moment we listened to his breathing. He seemed to be working at it. “Go and get some rest, man,” he said at last, gruffly. “You look terrible. I may …” He paused and took two breaths. “I will call you back later. When you are rested. I am sure there are things to ask….” His voice trailed off, and again he simply breathed. The deep breaths a man takes when the pain is almost too much to bear. I remembered what I had felt that night. I tried to imagine listening to Burrich report while enduring such pain. And struggling not to show it. The Fool leaned in over the King to look into his face. Then he looked at us and gave a tiny shake to his head.

“Come,” I said softly to Burrich. “Your king has given you an order.”

He seemed to lean on me more heavily as we left the King’s bedchamber.

“He did not seem to care,” Burrich said quietly, carefully to me as we moved laboriously down the corridor.

“He does. Trust me. He cares deeply.” We had come to the staircase. I hesitated. A flight down, through the hall, the kitchen, across the court, and into the stables. Then up the steep stairs to Burrich’s loft. Or up two flight of steps and down the hall to my room. “I’m taking you up to my room,” I told him.

“No. I want to be in my own place.” He sounded fretful as a sick child.

“In a while. After you’ve rested a bit,” I told him firmly. He did not resist as I eased him up the steps. I don’t think he had the strength. He leaned against the wall while I unlatched my door. Once the door was open, I helped him in. I tried to get him to lie down on my bed, but he insisted on the chair by the hearth. Once ensconced there, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. When he relaxed, all the privations of his journey showed in his face. Too much bone showed beneath his flesh, and his color was terrible.

He lifted his head and looked around the room as if he’d never seen it before. “Fitz? Have you anything to drink up here?”

I knew he didn’t mean tea. “Brandy?”

“The cheap blackberry stuff you drink? I’d sooner drink horse liniment.”

I turned back to him, smiling. “I might have some of that up here.”

He didn’t react. It was as if he hadn’t heard me.

I built up my fire. I quickly sorted through the small supply of herbs I kept in my room. There wasn’t much there. I had given most of them to the Fool. “Burrich, I’m going to go get you some food, and a few things. All right?”

There was no reply. He was already deeply asleep sitting there. I went to stand by him. I did not even need to touch the skin of his face to feel the fever burning there. I wondered what had happened to his leg this time. An injury atop an old injury, and then traveled on. It would not be soon healed, that was plain to me. I hurried out of my room.

In the kitchens, I interrupted Sara at pudding making, to tell her that Burrich was injured and sick and in my room. I lied and said he was ravenously hungry, and to please send a boy up with food, and some buckets of clean hot water. She immediately put someone else to stirring the pudding and began to clatter trays and teapots and cutlery. I would have enough food to supply a small banquet very quickly.

I ran out to the stables to let Hands know that Burrich was up in my room and would be for a while. Then I climbed the steps to Burrich’s room. I had it in my mind to get the herbs and roots I would need there. I opened the door. The chamber was cold. The damp had got into it, and mustiness. I made a mental note to have someone come up and make a fire, and bring in a supply of wood, water, and candles. Burrich had expected to be gone all winter. Characteristically, he had tidied his room to the point of severity. I found a few pots of herbal salve, but no stores of freshly dried herbs. Either he had taken them with him, or given them away before he left.

I stood in the center of the room and looked around me. It had been months since I’d been here. Childhood memories came crowding back into my head. Hours spent before that hearth, mending or oiling harness. I’d used to sleep on a mat before the fire. Nosy, the first dog I’d ever bonded to. Burrich had taken him away, to try to break me of using the Wit. I shook my head at the flood of conflicting emotions, and quickly left the room.