And he was gone, striding purposefully down the hall. I went back into my room, groggily realizing that this was his idea of early morning. I washed myself thoroughly with cold water, not enjoying it, but lacking the time to warm any. I dug about for fresh clothes and was dragging them on when the pounding at my door began again. “I’m nearly there,” I called out. The pounding went on. That meant Burrich was angry. Well, so was I. Surely he could understand how badly I ached this morning. I jerked the door open to confront him, and the Fool slipped in as smoothly as a waft of smoke. He wore a new motley of black and white. The sleeves of his shirt were all embroidered with black vines crawling up his arms like ivy. Above the black collar, his face was as pale as a winter moon. Winterfest, I thought dully. Tonight was the first night of Winterfest. The winter had already been as long as any five others I had known. But tonight we would begin to mark the midpoint of it.
“What do you want?” I demanded, in no mood for his silliness.
He took a deep appreciative sniff. “Some of what you had would be lovely,” he suggested, and then danced back gracefully at the look on my face. I was instantly angry. He leaped lightly to the center of my tousled bed, then to the other side, putting it between us. I lunged across it after him. “But not from you,” he exclaimed coquettishly and fluttered his hands at me in girlish rebuke before retreating again.
“I’ve no time for you,” I told him disgustedly. “Verity’s expecting me and I cannot keep him waiting.” I rolled off the bed and stood to adjust my clothing. “Out of my room.”