“Were you on the king’s staff, Froggatt?” I asked. “Before he died?” Froggatt stared at me with a new expression, one that scared me, for he seemed muted and blank suddenly, very far away. My words had pulled him into a bad place inside himself. I shouldn’t have asked. “Yes,” he said quietly. I swallowed, remembering how I’d yelled at him before. I forget sometimes that there are different kinds of resilience. “Then you’re a survivor,” I said. “You’ve survived things far worse than a long walk, or a little bit of cold.”
