“Ah, such a tone. Time was when the Fitz could handle a jest better than this.” He pirouetted in the center of my room, then stopped abruptly. “Are you truly angry with me?” he demanded straightforwardly.
I gaped to hear him speak so bluntly. I considered the question. “I was,” I said guardedly, wondering if he was deliberately drawing me out. “You made a fool of me that day, with that song, before all those people.”
He shook his head. “Don’t take titles to yourself. Only I am the Fool. And the Fool is always only what I am. Especially that day, with that song, before all those people.”
“You made me doubt our friendship,” I said bluntly.
“Ah, good. For doubt not that others must always doubt our friendship if we are to remain doughty friends.”
“I see. Then it was your end to sow rumors of strife between us. I understand, then. But I still must go.”
“Farewell, then. Have fun playing at axes with Burrich. Try not to be dumbstruck with all he teaches you today.” He put two logs onto my failing fire and made a great show of settling himself before it.
“Fool,” I began uncomfortably. “You are my friend, I know. But I like not to leave you here, in my room, while I am gone.”
“I like it not when others enter my room when I am not there,” he pointed out archly.
I flushed miserably. “That was long ago. And I apologized for my curiosity. I assure you, I have never done it again.”
“Nor shall I, after this. And when you come back, I shall apologize to you. Shall that do?”
I was going to be late. Burrich was not going to be amused. No help for it. I sat down on the edge of the rumpled bed. Molly and I had lain here. Suddenly it was a personal area. I tried to be casual as I tugged the quilts up over the feather beds. “Why do you want to stay in my room? Are you in danger?”