“Our stablemaster is well-known for having his own taste for the cup, lady queen. I suspect they have been at it together.” Regal sneered.
“The news of Verity’s death hit him hard,” Burrich said simply. He was true to himself, offering an explanation, but no excuse. He took hold of my shirtfront, jerked me from the floor. With no effort at playacting, I swayed on my feet until he gripped me more firmly. I caught a passing glimpse of the Fool hastily spooning another dose of elfbark into the King. I prayed no one would interrupt him. As Burrich ushered me roughly out of the room, I heard Queen Kettricken rebuking Regal, saying he should be below with his guests, and promising that she and the Fool could get the King to bed. As we were going up the stairs I heard Regal and his guard going down. He was still muttering and then ranting, complaining that he was not stupid, he could tell a plot when he saw one. It worried me, but I was fairly certain he had no real idea of what had been going on.
At my door, I was well enough to work my latches. Burrich followed me in. “If I had a dog that was sick as often as you are, I’d put it down,” he observed kindly. “Do you need more elfbark?”
“It wouldn’t hurt me any. But in a gentler dose. Do you have any ginger or mint or rose hips?”
He gave me a look. I sat on my chair while he poked at the pathetic embers in my fireplace until he got them to glow. He built up a fire, put water in the kettle, and set it to heat. He found a pot and put in the flaked elfbark, then found a mug and wiped the dust out of it. He set the things out ready, then looked about himself. Something like disgust was on his face. “Why do you live like this?” he demanded.