“What secret?” I asked reluctantly.
“My secret.” He turned aside from me and stared at the wall. “The mystery of the Fool. Whence comes he and why?” He cast me a sidelong glance and said no more.
The curiosity of a dozen years leaped in me. “Freely given?” I asked.
“No. Offered as a bargain, as I said.”
I considered. Then: “I’ll see you later. Latch the door when you leave.” And I slipped out.
There were serving folk moving about in the corridors. I was grievously late. I forced myself into a creaking trot, and then to a run. I did not slow for the stairs to Verity’s tower, but rushed up their full length, knocked once, and then entered.
Burrich turned to me, greeting me with a frown. The Spartan furnishings of the room had already been pushed to one wall, save for Verity’s window chair. Verity was already ensconced in it. He turned his head to me more slowly, with eyes still full of distance. There was a drugged look to his eyes and mouth, a laxness painful to see when one knew what it meant. The Skill hunger gnawed at him. I feared that what he wished to teach me would only feed it and increase it. Yet how could either of us say no? I had learned something yesterday. It had not been a pleasant lesson, but once learned, it could not be undone. I knew now that I would do whatever I must to drive the Red-Ships from my shore. I was not the King, I would never be the King, but the folk of the Six Duchies were mine, just as they were Chade’s. I understood now why Verity spent himself so recklessly.