“Come,” I said softly to Burrich. “Your king has given you an order.”
He seemed to lean on me more heavily as we left the King’s bedchamber.
“He did not seem to care,” Burrich said quietly, carefully to me as we moved laboriously down the corridor.
“He does. Trust me. He cares deeply.” We had come to the staircase. I hesitated. A flight down, through the hall, the kitchen, across the court, and into the stables. Then up the steep stairs to Burrich’s loft. Or up two flight of steps and down the hall to my room. “I’m taking you up to my room,” I told him.
“No. I want to be in my own place.” He sounded fretful as a sick child.
“In a while. After you’ve rested a bit,” I told him firmly. He did not resist as I eased him up the steps. I don’t think he had the strength. He leaned against the wall while I unlatched my door. Once the door was open, I helped him in. I tried to get him to lie down on my bed, but he insisted on the chair by the hearth. Once ensconced there, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. When he relaxed, all the privations of his journey showed in his face. Too much bone showed beneath his flesh, and his color was terrible.
He lifted his head and looked around the room as if he’d never seen it before. “Fitz? Have you anything to drink up here?”
I knew he didn’t mean tea. “Brandy?”
“The cheap blackberry stuff you drink? I’d sooner drink horse liniment.”
I turned back to him, smiling. “I might have some of that up here.”
He didn’t react. It was as if he hadn’t heard me.