She spoke it as if we were continuing a conversation. I had wondered if she would make the connection. Now that she did, I grieved for the guilt and chagrin I heard in her voice. “There have been Witted Farseers before Dutiful,” I pointed out. “Myself among them.”

“And you had a Mountain mother. For were not you given over to Verity at Moonseye? Who but a Mountain woman could have birthed you there? I see her, in the fineness of your hair, and I heard her, in how swiftly you recalled the language of your infancy when first you came to Jhaampe. As the Mountains left their mark on you in those ways, why not in another? It’s possible that she was the source of your Wit. Perhaps Mountain blood carries it.”

I walked perilously close to the edge of the truth as I said, “I consider it just as likely that Dutiful could have gotten the Wit from his father as his mother.”

“But—”

“But it matters little where it came from,” I ruthlessly interrupted my queen. I wanted to divert this conversation. “The boy has it, and that is what we must deal with. When he first asked me to teach him about it, I was horrified. Now I think his instincts were true. Better he know as much as I can teach him about both his magics.”

Her face lit. “Then you have agreed to teach him!”

Truly, I was out of practice at intrigue. Or perhaps, I reflected wryly, over the years my lady had learned that subtlety and gentleness could win her secrets that even Chade’s deviousness had not pried from me. The accuracy with which she read my face seemed to support the second theory.

“I will say nothing of it to the Prince. If he wishes it to remain private between you, then so it shall be. When will you start?”

“At the Prince’s earliest convenience,” I replied evasively. I would not tattle that he had already missed his first lesson.

She nodded at that, and seemed content to leave it to me. She cleared her throat. “FitzChivalry. The reason I summoned you here was my intent to . . . make things right for you. As much as we can. In so many ways, I cannot treat you as you deserve. But whatever we can do for your comfort or pleasure, I desire that we do. You masquerade as Lord Golden’s servant, and I understand all the reasons for this. Still, it chagrins me that a prince of your bloodlines should go unacknowledged amongst his own folk. So. What can we do? Would you like other chambers prepared for you, ones that you could reach privately and where you could have things arranged for your comfort?”