Fool's Fate (Tawny Man #3)

Fool's Fate (Tawny Man #3) Page 300

I must have fallen asleep there. When I awoke, it was late afternoon. For a moment, I could not recall where I was, only that I was happy. That was such a rare sensation for me that I lay there, looking up at blue sky through green leaves. Then I became aware that my back was stiff from sleeping on a stone bench, and in the following instant, that I had planned to take food and wine back to the Fool today. Well, it was not too late for that, I told myself. I rose and stretched and rolled the kinks out of my neck and shoulders.

The pathway back to the kitchens led through the herb gardens. At that time of year, lavender and dill and fennel grow tall, and this year they seemed even taller than usual. I heard one woman say querulously to another, “Just see how they've let the gardens go! Disgraceful. Pull up that weed, if you can reach it.”

Then, as I stepped into view, I recognized Lacey's voice as she said, “I don't think that's a weed, dear heart. I think it's a marigo— Well, it's too late now, whatever it was, you've got it up, roots and all. Give it to me, and I'll throw it in the bushes where no one will find it.”

And there they were, two dear old ladies, Patience in a summer gown and hat that had probably last seen the light of day when my father was King-in-Waiting. Lacey, as ever, was dressed in the simple robe of a serving woman. Patience carried her slippers in one hand and the torn-out marigold in the other. She looked at me nearsightedly. Perhaps she saw no more than the blue of a guard's uniform as she declared to me sternly, “Well, it didn't belong there!” She shook the offending plant at me. “That's what a weed is, young man, a plant growing in the wrong place, so you needn't stare at me so! Didn't your mother teach you any manners?”

“Oh, dear Eda-of-the-Fields!” Lacey exclaimed. I thought I might still be able to retreat, but then Lacey, stolid, solid Lacey, turned slowly and fainted dead away into the lavender.

“Whatever are you doing, dear? Did you lose something?” Patience exclaimed, peering at her. And then, when she perceived Lacey was supine and unmoving, she turned on me, asking in outrage, “See what you've done now! Frightened the poor old woman to death, you have! Well, don't stand there, you simpleton. Pluck her out of the lavender before she crushes it completely!”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said, and stooping, I lifted her. Lacey had always been a hearty woman, and age had not dwindled her. Nonetheless, I managed to raise her, and even carried her to a shady spot before I set her down on the grass there. Patience had followed us, muttering and shaking her head over how clumsy I was.

“Faints at the drop of a hat she does, now! Poor old dear. Do you feel better now?” She eased herself down beside her companion and patted her hand. Lacey's eyes fluttered.

“I'll fetch some water, shall I?”

“Yes. And hurry. And don't even think of running off, young man. This is all your doing, you know.”

I ran to the kitchens for a cup and filled it at the well on my way back. By the time I got there, Lacey was sitting up and Lady Patience was fanning her old servant, alternately scolding and sympathizing. “. . . and you know as well as I do how the eyes play tricks on us at our age. Why, only last week, I tried to shoo my wrap off the table, thinking it was the cat. It was the way it was curled, you know.”

“My lady, no. Look well. It is him or his ghost. He looks just as his father looked at that age. Look at him, do.”

I kept my eyes down as I knelt by her and offered her the cup. “A bit of water, ma'am, and I'm sure you'll feel better. It was most likely the heat.” Then, as Lacey took the cup from me, Patience reached across her to seize my chin in her hand. “Look at me, young man! Look at me, I said!” And then, as she leaned closer and closer to me, she exclaimed, “My Chivalry never had a nose like that. But his eyes do . . . remind me. Oh. Oh, my son, my son. It cannot be. It cannot be.”

She let go of me and sat back. Lacey offered her the cup of water, and Patience took it absently. She drank from it and, turning to Lacey, said calmly, “He wouldn't dare. He wouldn't have.”

Lacey still stared at me. “You heard the rumors, same as me, my lady. And that Witted minstrel sang us the song, about the dragons and how the Witted Bastard rose from the grave to serve his king.”

“He wouldn't,” Patience repeated. She stared at me, and my tongue was frozen to the roof of my mouth. Then, “Help me up, young man. And Lacey, too. She has the fainting spells, these days. Eating too much fish, is what I think brings them on. And river fish at that. Makes her wobbly, so you'll just see us back to our chambers, won't you?”