The Fool ensconced himself in one of the two chairs that faced the hearth. He leaned back in it with a sigh and stretched out his long legs toward the warmth. His voice reached me as I moved toward my chamber. “Fitz. You know I love you, don’t you?” I halted where I stood. “I’d hate to have to kill you,” he continued. I recognized his adept imitation of my own voice and inflection. I stared at him, baffled. He sat up taller and glanced over the back of his chair at me with a pained smile. “Never again attempt to put my clothing away,” he warned me. “Verulean silk should be draped for storage.
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