“I didn’t lie,” I said querulously, confused by the anger in her voice. I wished I could make my eyes meet hers. “I just didn’t tell you quite … it’s too complicated. Molly, I’m just so glad you’re all right. And here in Buckkeep! I thought I was going to have to search …” She still gripped me, holding me on my feet. “I’m not drunk. Really. I did lie just now, because it was embarrassing to admit how weak I am.”
“And so you lie.” Her voice cut like a whip. “You should be more embarrassed to lie, Newboy. Or is lying permitted to a Prince’s son?”
She let go of me and I sagged against a wall. I tried to get a grip on my whirling thoughts while keeping my body vertical. “I’m not a Prince’s son,” I said at last. “I’m a bastard. That’s different. And yes, that was too embarrassing to admit, too. But I never told you I wasn’t the Bastard. I just always felt, when I was with you, I was Newboy. It was nice, having a few friends who looked at me and thought, Newboy’ instead of
the Bastard.’ “
Molly didn’t reply. Instead she grabbed me, much more roughly than before, by my shirtfront, and hauled me down the hall to my room. I was amazed at how strong women were when they were angry. She shouldered the door open as if it were a personal enemy and propelled me toward my bed. As soon as I was close, she let go and I fell against it. I righted myself and managed to sit down. By clutching my hands tightly together and gripping them between my knees, I could control my trembling. Molly stood glaring at me. I couldn’t precisely see her. Her outline was blurred, her features a smear, but I could tell by the way she stood that she was furious.