“Shame to me, not you, to have ignored how ill you have been.” He had arisen silently. He set his glass of wine before me. “The damage you took was taken for me. I am appalled by what I allowed to befall you.”

I forced myself to meet Verity’s eyes. He knew all that I tried to conceal. Knew it, and was miserable with guilt.

“It is not often this bad,” I offered him.

He smiled at me, but his eyes did not change. “You are an excellent liar, Fitz. Do not think your training has gone awry. But you cannot lie to a man who has been with you as much as I have, not just these last few days, but often during your illness. If any other man says to you, ‘I know just how you feel,’ you may regard it as a politeness. But from me accept it as truth. And I know that with you it is as it is with Burrich. I shall not offer you the pick of the colts a few months hence. I do offer you my arm, if you wish it, to get back to your room.”

“I can manage,” I said stiffly. I was aware of how he honored me, but also of how plainly he saw my weakness. I wanted to be alone, to hide myself.

He nodded, understanding. “Would that you had mastered the Skill. I could offer you strength, just as I have too often taken it from you.”

“I could not,” I muttered, unable to mask how distasteful I would find the drawing off of another man’s strength to replace my own. I instantly regretted the moment of shame I saw in my prince’s eyes.

“I, too, could once speak with such pride,” he said quietly. “Go get some rest, boy.” He turned slowly aside from me. He busied himself setting out his inks and his vellum once more. I left quietly.

We had been closeted for the whole day. Outside, it was full dark. The castle had the settled air of a winter’s evening. The tables cleared, the folk would be gathered about the hearths in the Great Hall. Minstrels might be singing, or a puppeteer moving his gangly charges through a story. Some folk would watch while fletching arrows, some would be plying needles, children would be spinning tops or matching markers or drowsing against their parents’ knees or shoulders. All was secure. Outside, the winter storms blew and kept us safe.

I walked with a drunkard’s caution, avoiding the common areas where folk had gathered for the evening. I folded my arms and hunched my shoulders as if chilled, and so stilled the trembling in my arms. I climbed the first flight of stairs slowly, as if lost in thought. On the landing I permitted myself to pause for a count of ten, then forced myself to begin the next flight.

But as I set my foot to the first step, Lacey came bounding down. A plump woman more than a score of years older than myself, she still moved down the steps with a child’s skipping gait. As she reached the bottom she seized me with a cry of “There you are!” as if I were a pair of shears she’d misplaced from her sewing basket. She clutched my arm firmly and turned me toward the hall. “I’ve been up and down those stairs a dozen times today if I’ve been once. My, you’ve gotten taller. Lady Patience has not been at all herself and it’s your fault. At first she expected you to tap on the door any moment. She was so pleased you were finally home.” She paused to look up at me with her bright bird eyes. “That was this morning,” she confided. Then: “You have been ill! Such circles under your eyes.”

Without giving me a chance to reply, she went on, “By early afternoon, when you hadn’t arrived, she began to be insulted and a bit cross. By dinner she was in such a temper over your rudeness she could scarcely eat. Since then, she’s decided to believe the rumors about how sick you’ve been. She’s sure that you’ve either collapsed somewhere, or that Burrich has kept you down in the stables cleaning up after horses and dogs despite your health. Now, here we are, in you go, I have him, my lady.” And she whisked me into Patience’s chambers.

Lacey’s chatter had an odd undertone to it, as if she avoided something. I entered hesitantly, wondering if Patience herself had been ill or if some misfortune had befallen her. If either were so, then it hadn’t affected her living habits at all. Her chambers were much as they always were. All her greenery had grown and twined and dropped leaves. A new layer of sudden interests overlay all the discarded ones in the room. Two doves had been added to her menagerie. A dozen or so horseshoes were scattered about the room. A fat bayberry candle burned on the table, giving off a pleasant scent, but dripping wax onto some dried flowers and herbs on a tray beside it. Some oddly carved little sticks in a bundle were also threatened. They appeared to be fortune-telling sticks such as the Chyurda used. As I entered, her tough little terrier bitch came up to greet me. I stooped to pat her, then wondered if I could stand again. To cover my delay, I carefully picked up a tablet from the floor. It was a rather old one, and probably rare, on the use of the fortune-telling sticks. Patience turned away from her loom to greet me.