"No, Fitz, forget the wine. We can tidy up. You are tired, and half-sick. Just take yourself up to bed. Come and see me when you've rested. I've something serious to discuss with you, but it will keep another night. Now off you go, boy. Off to bed."

I stood, grateful for the reprieve, and made my cautious courtesies. Lacey saw me as far as the door, and then stood watching after me anxiously as far as the landing. I tried to walk as if the walls and floors weren't wavering. I paused at the stairs to give her a small wave, and then started up them. Three steps up and out of her sight, I stopped to lean on the wall and catch my breath. I lifted my hands to shield my eyes from the brilliant candlelight. Dizziness was washing over me in waves. When I opened my eyes, my vision was wreathed in rainbow fogs. I closed them tight and pressed my hands to them.

I heard a light step coming down the stairs toward me. It paused two steps above me. "Are you all right, sir?" someone asked uncertainly.

"A bit too much to drink," I lied. Certainly the wine I had dumped over myself made me smell like a drunk. "I'll be fine in a moment."

"Let me help you up the stairs. A stumble here might be dangerous." There was starched disapproval in the voice now. I opened my eyes and peered through my fingers. Blue skirts. Of the sensible fabric that all the servants wore. No doubt she'd had to deal with drunks before.

I shook my head, but she ignored that, just as I would have in her position. I felt a strong hand grip my upper arm firmly, while her other arm encircled my waist. "Let's just get you up the stairs," she encouraged me. I leaned on her, not wanting to, and stumbled up to the next landing.

"Thank you," I muttered, thinking she would leave me now, but she kept her grip.

"Are you sure you belong on this level? The servants' quarters are the next flight up, you know."

I managed a nod. "Third door. If you don't mind."

She was silent for longer than a moment. "That's the Bastard's room." The words were flung like a cold challenge.

I did not flinch to the words as I would have once. I did not even lift my head. "Yes. You may go now." I dismissed her as coldly.

Instead she stepped closer. She seized my hair, jerked my head up to face her. "Newboy!" she hissed in fury. "I should drop you right here."

I jerked my head up. I could not make my eyes focus on her eyes, but all the same, I knew her, knew the shape of her face and how her hair fell forward on her shoulders, and her scent, like a summer afternoon. Relief crashed over me like a wave. It was Molly, my Molly the candlemaker. "You're alive!" I cried out. My heart leaped in me like a hooked fish. I took her in my arms and kissed her.

At least, I attempted to. She stiff-armed me away, saying gruffly, "I shall never kiss a drunk. That's one promise I've made to myself and shall always keep. Nor be kissed by one." Her voice was tight.

"I'm not drunk, I'm… sick," I protested. The surge of excitement had made my head spin more than ever. I swayed on my feet. "It doesn't matter anyway. You're here and safe."

She steadied me. A reflex she had learned taking care of her father. "Oh. I see. You're not drunk." Disgust and disbelief mingled in her voice. "You're not the scriber's boy, either. Nor a stable hand. Is lying how you always begin with people? It seems to be how you always end."

"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.

After a moment I ventured, "I dreamed of you. While I was gone."

She still didn't speak. I felt a bit braver. "I dreamed you were at Siltbay. When it was raided." My words came out tight with my effort to keep my voice from shaking. "I dreamed of fires, and Raiders attacking. In my dream, there were two children you had to protect. It seemed like they were yours." Her silence held like a wall against my words. She probably thought I was ten kinds of an idiot, babbling about dreams. And why, oh why, of all the people in the world who could have seen me so unmanned, why did it have to be Molly? The silence had grown long. "But you were here, at Buckkeep and safe." I tried to steady my quavering voice. "I'm glad you're safe. But what are you doing at Buckkeep?"

"What am I doing here?" Her voice was as tight as mine. Anger made it cold, but I thought it was hedged with fear, too. "I came looking for a friend." She paused and seemed to strangle for a bit. When she spoke again, her voice was artificially calm, almost kind. "You see, my father died and left me a debtor. So my creditors took my shop from me. I went to stay with relatives, to help with the harvest, to earn money to start again. In Siltbay. Though how you came to know of it, I cannot even guess. I earned a bit and my cousin was willing to loan me the rest. The harvest had been good. I was to come back to Buckkeep the next day. But Siltbay was raided. I was there, with my nieces…" Briefly, her voice trailed away. I remembered with her. The ships, the fire, the laughing woman with the sword. I looked up at her and could almost focus on her. I could not speak. But she was looking off, over my head. She spoke on calmly.

"My cousins lost everything they owned. They counted themselves lucky, for their children survived. I couldn't ask them to loan me money still. Truth was, they couldn't even have paid me for the work I had done, if I had thought to ask. So I came back to Buckkeep, with winter closing in, and no place to stay. And I thought, I've always been friends with Newboy. If there's anyone I could ask to loan me money to tide me over, it would be him. So I came up to the Keep, and asked for the scriber's boy. But everyone shrugged and sent me to Fedwren. And Fedwren listened as I described you, and frowned, and sent me to Patience." Molly paused significantly. I tried to imagine that meeting, but shuddered away from it. "She took me on as a lady's maid," Molly said softly. "She said it was the least she could do, after you had shamed me."

"Shamed you?" I jerked upright. The world rocked around me and my blurry vision dissolved into sparks. "How? How shamed you?"

Molly's voice was quiet. "She said you had obviously won my affections, and then left me. Under my false assumption that you would someday be able to marry me, I'd let you court me."