Clarissa caught me in the east wing corridor before I reached Ophelia's door, a tray balanced on one hip, two daggers sheathed at her thigh out of habit rather than need.
"She asked for you," Clarissa said, and there was something almost startled in her own voice, as if she hadn't expected to be the one saying it. "Not by name. She said, ask him to come. That's new."
"How new?"
"As of an hour ago." Clarissa shrugged, the tray not so much as tilting. "I've been feeding her broth and stale jokes for two weeks and gotten nothing but grunts. You get one conversation and suddenly she's sending for you. I'd be offended if I weren't a professional."
