“Does no one around here ever use the healer?” the Fool asked of no one in particular. Lacey ignored him.
“That is what I supposedly came here for, so I had best return with it, in case someone asks to see it. My real mission is to find the Fitz, and ask him if he knows there are guards chopping down King Shrewd’s door with axes.”
I nodded gravely. I wasn’t going to attempt Burrich’s graceful stance. The Fool leaped to his feet instead, crying, “What?” He rounded on me. “I thought you said you had succeeded! What success is this?”
“The best I could manage on very short notice,” I retorted. “It will either be all right, or it won’t. We’ve done all we can just now. Besides, think on it. That’s a good stout oaken door. It will take them a while to get through it. And when they do, I fancy they will find the inner door to the King’s bedchamber is likewise bolted and barred.”
“How did you manage that?” Burrich asked quietly.
“I didn’t,” I said brusquely. I looked at the Fool. “I have said enough, for now. It is time to have a bit of trust.” I turned to Lacey. “How are the Queen and Patience? How went our masquerade?”
“Well enough. The Queen is sore bruised from her fall, and for myself, I am not all that sure that the babe is out of danger of being lost. A miscarriage from a fall does not always happen immediately. But let us not borrow trouble. Wallace was concerned but ineffectual. For a man who claims to be a healer, he knows remarkably little of the true lore of herbs. As for the Prince …” Lacey snorted, but said no more.