King Shrewd looked down on me benignly. “Well, lad? Did you have a good day? Tell me about it.”
“I have had a … worrisome day, my king.”
“Have you, now? Well, have a cup of tea. It does wonders to soothe the nerves. Fool, pour my boy a cup of tea.”
“Willingly, my king. I do so at your command even more willingly than I do it for yourself.” With a surprising alacrity, the Fool leaped to his feet. There was a fat clay pot of tea warming in the embers at the edges of the fire. From this the Fool poured me a mug and then handed it to me, with the wish, “Drink as deeply as our king does, and you shall share his serenity.”
I took the mug from his hand and lifted it to my lips. I inhaled the vapors, then let the liquid lap lightly against my tongue. It smelled warm and spicy, and tingled pleasantly against my tongue. I did not drink, but lowered the cup with a smile. “A pleasant brew, but is not merrybud addictive?” I asked the King directly.
He smiled down on me. “Not in such a small quantity. Wallace has assured me it is good for my nerves, and for my appetite as well.”
“Yes, it does wonders for the appetite,” the Fool chimed in. “For the more you have, the more you shall want. Drink yours quickly, Fitz, for no doubt you will have company soon. The more you drink, the less you shall have to share.” With a gesture like a petal unfurling, the Fool waved toward the door at the precise instant that it opened to admit Regal.
“Ah, more visitors.” King Shrewd chuckled pleasantly. “This shall be a merry evening indeed. Sit down, my boy, sit down. The Fitz was just telling us he’d had a vexatious day. So I offered him a mug of my tea to soothe him.”