“I see.” I fastened the leaves to the line, dangling them like a body from a noose. Even their odor was bitter. Had I wondered, earlier, how Verity could be so unaware of what was right before him? Why had I never thought of this? How must it be for her, to dread what a rightfully married woman would long for? What Patience had longed for in vain?
“…seaweed, FitzChivalry?”
I started. “Beg pardon?”
“I said, when you have an afternoon free, would you gather seaweed for me? The black, crinkly sort? It has the most flavor this time of year.”
“I will try,” I replied absently. For how many years would Molly have to worry? How much bitterness must she swallow?
“What are you looking at?” Patience demanded.
“Nothing. Why?”
“Because I’ve asked you twice to get down so we can move the chair. We’ve all these other packets to hang, you know.”
“Beg pardon. I didn’t get much sleep last night; it’s left me dull-witted today.”
“I agree. You should start sleeping more at night.” These words were uttered a bit heavily. “Now come down and move the chair so we can hang these mints.”
I didn’t eat much at dinner. Regal was alone on the high dais, looking sullen. His usual circle of fawners clustered at a table just below him. I did not understand why he chose to dine separately. Certainly, he had the rank to, but why choose this isolation? He summoned one of the more flattering of the minstrels he had recently imported to Buckkeep. Most of them were from Farrow. All of them affected the nasal intonations of that region and favored the long, chanting styles of epics. This one sang a long telling of some adventure of Regal’s maternal grandfather. I listened as little as I was able; it seemed to have to do with riding a horse to death in order to be the one to shoot a great stag that had eluded a generation of hunters. It praised endlessly the greathearted horse who had gone to his death at his master’s bidding. It said nothing of the master’s stupidity in wasting such an animal to gain some tough meat and a rack of antlers.