“Oh. I see.” She dismissed my illness. She took a breath, glanced about, then suddenly demanded, “Tell me. Have you ever considered marriage?”
The abrupt change in subject was so like Patience that I had to smile. I tried to put my mind to the question. For a moment I saw Molly, her cheeks reddened with the wind that teased her dark hair loose. Molly. Tomorrow, I promised myself. Siltbay.
“Fitz! Stop that! I won’t have you staring through me as if I were not here. Do you hear me? Are you well?”
With an effort I called myself back. “Not really,” I answered honestly. “It’s been a tiring day for me ….”
“Lacey, fetch the boy a cup of elderberry wine. He does look worn. Maybe this isn’t the best time for talk,” Lady Patience decided falteringly. For the first time she really looked at me. Genuine concern grew in her eyes. “Perhaps,” she suggested softly, after a moment, “I do not know the full tale of your adventures.”
I looked down at my padded mountain buskins. The truth hovered inside me, then fell and was drowned in the danger of her knowing all that truth. “A long journey. Bad food. Dirty inns with sour beds and sticky tables. That sums it up. I don’t think you really want to hear all the details.”
An odd thing happened. Our eyes met, and I knew she saw my lie. She nodded slowly, accepting the lie as necessary, and looked aside. I wondered how many times my father had told her similar lies. What did it cost her to nod?
Lacey put the cup of wine into my hand firmly. I lifted it, and the sweet sting of the first sip revived me. I held it in both hands and managed to smile at Patience over it. “Tell me,” I began, and despite myself, my voice quavered like an old man’s. I cleared my throat to steady it. “How have you been? I imagine that having a Queen here at Buckkeep has made your life much busier. Tell me of all I have missed.”